grapefruit juice and cold blooded murder
by sarrae
Summary: Kissing Tweek as the means to end a scientific experiment. A potentially deadly one, apparently. Oneshot, Creek.


"Sh-shit Craig, what is that?"

Tweek does a full body jerk, pointing at the small plastic bottle of grapefruit juice, right next to Craig's lunch.

"It's a drink, spaz," he deadpans.

"Yeah, but it's got a g-grapefruit on the label, _shit_!"

Craig quirks an eyebrow over at Tweek, who now looks shockingly terrified of life for a Tuesday at lunch time. Which probably isn't that far out of the realm of possibility, so Craig is less surprised than he would be.

Craig lifts the bottle, and sure enough, there stands a digitally enhanced plasticised grapefruit printed right on the label. He points the bottle towards Tweek and startles slightly when the boy jerks backward so violently.

"The _fuck_, Tweek?"

"Keep it away from me!" Tweek shrieks, shoving what's left of his lunch off the plastic tray, before brandishing it like a shield, "You just. I'm. _Shit_."

Tweek drops the tray and bolts out of the lunch room. Oddly enough, Craig's first instinct is to go after him, which he stomps down, because there really isn't much point. Lunch is almost over, anyways. This whole dealing with Tweek thing is new to him, he's not quite sure the best way to react around him sometimes. Tweek had clung to him after their fight, like it had somehow brought them closer, like Craig now knew a part of Tweek that nobody else did.

He supposes he does, if he's honest.

The novelty of having the fucked up kid tail you like a lost puppy at school is kind of how it started, at least for Craig. He just didn't expect the whole 'not liking it when he goes away' part to be a thing.

* * *

The next day, Craig purposely buys the same juice, with the same label. Craig has this thing where he's convinced nothing is actually wrong with Tweek, he just wasn't exposed to the right things as a kid, and doesn't know how to deal with them because of it. So prolonged exposure is like… therapy, or some shit. It's not because Craig kinda likes Tweek when he's freaking out, when his eyes go all glossy and his body shudders involuntarily- no.

Tweek nearly trips over himself when he sees it, a slightly harsher reaction than Crag had been expecting.

"_Hng_, shit, Craig! Are you trying to fucking kill me?"

Craig turns on the bench, straddling it, facing Tweek with what he assumes(hopes) is a somewhat condescending glare.

"Why are you afraid of the juice, Tweek?"

Tweek stands there, wide-eyed, clutching the front of his hoodie like the extra fabric at his chest will keep him safe.

"Because it can _kill me_."

Craig sighs, grabbing Tweek's hoodie and yanking him down until he's sitting. Tweek makes this tiny squeak when his flat ass hits the bench, and Craig tries not to show his amusement.

"Juice can't kill you, spaz-"

"It can!" Tweek shrieks, and then glances around the room quickly before lowering his voice, "It can, I swear. It can't kill _you_, but people like me can't go near it, it's - it's like… poison for crazy people!"

Craig deflates slightly, any hint of amusement wiped from his face.

"Don't say that shit about yourself, man."

"I'm being serious!" Tweek lurches forward, looking like he's about to grab Craig much in the same way he'd grabbed himself, but his hands twitch and fall short. "It fucks with my meds."

Tweek is a lot closer than Craig ever remembers him being. He kind of smells like an odd mixture of deodorant and plastic. He's also got this freckle, or maybe it's a mole, right in the hollow of his throat. Craig's never noticed it before. Tweek swallows, and Craig forces himself to remember that time doesn't stop whenever he wants it to.

"You're full of shit," he mumbles, pulling away until he's at a safer distance. Tweek looks a little put out, but at least he doesn't run away from him this time.

* * *

Craig keeps buying the juice, even though it doesn't taste all that good, only to keep getting a reaction from Tweek. He's not doing it to be cruel, he just likes pushing him. This friendship is still new, he's still feeling out what's okay and what isn't. Tweek makes a bad fucking habit of over exaggerating though, and it pisses Craig off, so trying to tame him into not doing that is somewhat of an important thing.

"What does it taste like?" Tweek asks meekly one day, peering around Craig's shoulders like he doesn't want the bottle to catch him looking at it.

"Why do you care?" Craig huffs, digging into his sandwich.

"Wouldn't you want to know what death tastes like? _Shit_, Craig."

He keeps leaning over Craig, staring at the damn juice like it's going to stab him dead and he's using Craig as some kind of barrier to keep that from happening. It's kind of weird to admit, but Tweek's fingers digging into his shoulder feels nice. Tweek's breath at his ear is making his neurons short-fire though, so he'll blame his next idea on that later.

"I know of a way you can taste- a way you won't die."

Tweek's eyes go so wide they look ready to slip out of his skull, which is oddly endearing.

"Come home with me," Craig adds, when Tweek stays silent.

He looks terrified again, but he's nodding. Craig thinks this is one of his favorite things about Tweek, his literal inability to take things at anything but face value. Sometimes face value to Tweek isn't quite what most people would call reality, but still- he's innocent, really. It's why Craig thinks he just hasn't seen enough yet. Like he'll balance himself out over time, chill out a bit once he's lived a little more. Not like Craig really wants him to, but being the beaker to help contain these scientific experiments is becoming almost addictive.

* * *

They end up sitting on Craig's floor by his bed after school, cross-legged, their knees knocking. Tweek's a skinny little shit, and he keeps wearing these jeans that are way too tight for him, so Craig tries to keep from looking at the shape of his legs in that position. Instead he pulls out the bottle of grapefruit juice from his bag, and plants it down between them, in the small gap at their calves.

Tweek's breathing audibly increases, and he glances frantically from the bottle back up to Craig.

"Are you gonna kill me, man?" he asks quietly.

Not a lot of things make Craig smile, but oddly, this does.

"No. You wanna know how it tastes, I'm gonna show you."

Tweek sounds about a hairs width away from hyperventilating now.

"I wasn't k-kidding, _shit_, I can't drink it. I'll _die_, I'm serious Craig."

Craig might seem like a passive asshole, but he's not an idiot. He knows what meds Tweek are on, at least enough that a quick google search on 'anti-psychotics and grapefruit' tells him that Tweek - while exaggerating in the way that only Tweek knows how - isn't actually wrong this time.

"I never said you would drink it, I said _taste_ it."

Tweek blinks, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his breathing, but his brows furrowed slightly in confusion. He's calming down.

"I'm going to drink it," Craig begins slowly, "And you're going to taste it from me."

"What, like- a _bird_? Are you gonna spit it in my mouth? _Shit_, that's still drinking it, I can't-"

"No, spaz, chill. You're just going to taste it from my mouth, I'll swallow it."

Tweek blinks, cocking his head to the side. He's even more confused now, but at least he's stopped breathing like a maniac caught in a dream about drowning.

"I'm going to kiss you," Craig clarifies, speaking slowly, deliberately.

Craig thinks this is the most silent and still Tweek has ever been. He just keeps blinking, and his mouth hangs open, so Craig ignores his own thundering heartbeat and stuttering nerves and takes a quick swig of the juice. Tweek has apparently watched him the entire time, and by the time Craig is leaning in, Tweek's breathing has picked up again, so much that his entire body is vibrating with it.

"What if I still die?" Tweek asks quickly, voice barely a whisper. His open palm is pressed into Craig's chest, holding him back.

"You won't."

"You'll tell my mom if I die, right? D-don't let it hear it from the cops man, she hates the cops-"

"I will, but you won't."

Craig keeps leaning in, bridging the space between them. Tweek's breathing is erratic now, all broken and stuttered, and his hand is still pressed like he's holding Craig back, but there's no driving force behind it. He looks about as afraid as Craig feels.

Craig is so close he can feel Tweek's shaky breath on his lips, and his eyes are about to flutter closed. Tweek keeps leaning back, but he's not pushing Craig's chest anymore. In fact, he's gripping his shirt.

"Are you trying to murder me?" he asks, voice so soft it's barely audible, and Craig feels every word against his lips.

"No," he says, and then Craig isn't sure who tilts their head first, but he's tasting Tweek's lips.

Neither of them moves for a beat. Tweek seemingly just trying to teach himself to breathe through his nose, and Craig trying to keep his equilibrium steady, lest he loses his grip and falls. If heads could spin on necks, that's exactly what Craig's would be doing right now. Which would royally fuck up his first kiss, so he's kind of glad they can't.

Tweek pushes his lips out, timidly, like he's testing the waters. When he feels Craig kiss him back, he makes this dizzying little noise in the back of his throat, like a cough shook hands with a whimper, and Craig's not-spinning head can't seem to handle it. He loses his balance, and pulls back from Tweek before he ends up tackling him to the floor.

Tweek is still clutching Craig's shirt when he pulls away, and he only drops his hand when he stops looking at Craig's mouth and notices.

"Shit," Tweek breathes, his chest heaving, and he covers his mouth with both hands, "Shit, you just- You tasted bitter, man, I think I'm gonna die."

Craig's heart is thundering so loud in his chest, he can barely hear Tweek, and it gives him an idea. He pulls Tweek's hands away from his face, and places one of them against his chest.

"Feel that?" he asks, and Tweek nods. Craig places Tweek's other hand against his own chest, and Tweek startles from it. "That means we're both very much alive."

Tweek blinks rapidly, like he's trying to keep Craig in focus, and his eyes look kind of hazy. Craig actually has a moment of panic where he wonders if maybe a taste is all it takes to push Tweek's meds into toxic levels. He thought it was safe, but suddenly now, he isn't sure.

"C-can we- can we do that again?" Tweek asks quietly, after a tense moment of silence.

"I thought you didn't want to die."

"Yeah, but wh-what if it's like a vaccine?" Tweek asks, perking up, "What if you kissing me helps me build up immunity like- like the flu, or some shit."

"You really want to drink grapefruit juice that badly huh? Thought you didn't like the taste," Craig mutters, and he's already leaning in, almost like he can't help it.

"Not really, I just- _fuck_, I just. I like the way you taste. Even if it's bitter."

Craig surges forward, and this time they nearly do topple backwards. Craig catches Tweek with an arm wrapped around his back, and manages to shift them so Tweek is leaning into his bed frame. Any trace of the grapefruit is gone this time, all Craig can taste is Tweek, and he knows all Tweek can taste is him. His heart is beating so fast, he can feel it in his stomach, but Tweek's lips are so shockingly soft sliding against his- it's distracting.

Craig's arm slides around his back, until his fingers grip at Tweek's side, and everything about him is soft. He's skinny as shit, and he's a boy, but Craig likes the way he feels. The way his skin is all smooth and speckled with moles, the way his bottom lip feels fat and slick as it slides between his, the way his tongue flicks against his timidly, like he's afraid to do more.

When Tweek pulls back, he's clutching at either side of Craig's hat, like he's trying to keep himself from falling. His lips are swollen and pink, Craig notices dazedly, and his eyes still look bleary. His pinched expression looks almost wounded, but not in a bad way.

"Still think I'm trying to kill you?" Craig asks softly.

"No," Tweek replies, loosening his grip on Craig's hat, until he's playing with tassels, grinning openly. "And if you did I w-w- _shit_. I wouldn't be mad."

"Yeah?" Craig asks, slowly leaning in once more.

"_Hng_, mhm. Manslaughter, not murder. Unintentional death by kisses. Something along th-those lines."

"Yeah, I think I'm okay with that," Craig mutters, before kissing him once more.

He isn't sure how he expected this to go, but Craig doesn't think anything he had in mind was this good. He doesn't even notice when the bottle of juice rolls off the bed, thudding against the carpet in his room.

If this is what dying tastes like, maybe it's worth it.


End file.
